Homeward Bound
by Cruellae
Summary: Zevran and Eve journey in search of the Dalish, but finding the elusive elves is more difficult than walking up to the forest and knocking on the door. This is a sequel to Sunlight and Shadows, takes place right after that story ends.
1. Chapter 1

Zevran slept on his side, curling on the small bedroll. Eve clung to his back, wrapping herself around him like a turtle's shell. They always slept this way, ever since the first night they'd spent together in the cold of the abandoned temple they'd braved in the hope of finding Andraste's ashes.

He usually left after he'd satisfied her a time or two, but one frigid night she'd pulled him close and asked him to stay with her. An unusual request to Zevran, who preferred to sleep where he could hear anyone before they got too close, but he had offered his services as a bed-warmer, though he hadn't meant it literally. He'd lain on her bedroll, awkwardly for someone who had been so eagerly intimate moments before. He'd turned his back to her and tried to sleep, but before long he'd felt those slender arms wrapped around his waist, her slim body against his back. "Night," she'd murmured and fell immediately asleep. Zevran had stayed awake for a long time, not wanting to lose out on the comfort of her closeness, the gentle intimate touch he craved given so freely and easily.

It seemed ages ago they were searching for Andraste's ashes. So much had happened since then. She had gone to Amaranthine, and he to Antiva, running away from exactly this sort of tenderness before it could break him. And wonder of all wonders, she had come after him, come all the way to Antiva to bring him back home.

And home was where they headed now, two elves in search of the Dalish clan Eve called her own. But the Dalish were not easy to find. Eve's clan summered in the forests north of the Bannorn, and that was where they wandered now, and had been for a week. Eve had not found a trace of her clan and it had begun to worry her.

Dawn rose and with it the summer heat. Zevran sprawled across the bedroll, enjoying the sun on his skin. Eve was already awake, making tea over a tiny fire, her eyes fixed on his form in the sunlight. For when he was with his woman, Zevran always slept nude, and he looked so natural and peaceful in the sunlit forest, as though he were a wild creature rather than an assassin raised in the mud and filth of a city.

Eve brought him over a cup of tea.

"Ahh," said Zevran as he sipped it. "Good morning."

"Morning," she said.

"It is truly lovely today. I must admit I miss the city less and less as we spend more time in the wilds."

"Good," she said. "Cities are…" she paused, lost for the right word. She did not want to say frightening, but cities did scare her to a degree. She was a wild creature, born to run soft and fleet footed through the forests, to lounge like a cat in the boughs of trees and drink crystal water from trickling streams.

"Filthy," he suggested. She nodded. That too. The constant stink of food and people overwhelmed her, she who had been used to catching the subtle scent of a predator on the wind from a mile away.

They had no need of supplies, Eve knew her way around the forest well enough to forage and hunt for everything they needed. But she did need guidance. Her people had not been in this forest for some time, perhaps they now summered elsewhere, or perhaps the Blight had swept them away. She closed her eyes for a second. They must be alive, somewhere. Her keeper was far too clever to let the clan be taken by darkspawn.

"Perhaps we should return to Denerim," she said, picking her words carefully. "The alienage may have news of the Dalish, perhaps even of my clan. They used to spend the summers here, but there is no sign of them now."

"I am certain no harm has come to them, my dear," said Zevran, picking up on the anxiety subtly layered under her words. She would not propose they return to the city she despised unless she knew no other way to proceed.

She simply nodded and began to roll up their bedroll. Together the elves hefted their packs and headed for Denerim.

"Tell me of your clan," Zevran said as they walked.

Eve smiled. "Our keeper is Marethari. She is old but strong, and very wise, even more so than Wynne. But you'd best not make jokes about her bosom the whole time we are there."

"Is it a magical bosom? Wynne's was so very lovely I think she must have used some mage trickery to keep it so."

Eve laughed. "Her apprentice is called Merril. She's my age, but much wiser than I am, certainly. She will be keeper someday, but not for a long time. Marethari's time is far from over."

Eve talked most of the way to Denerim, of Pol, the young elf who ran away from the alienage to join them, and of Fenarel, the brave young hunter. Ashalle, who was a second mother to her. And Zevran listened and was jealous. Eve may have been an orphan, but she was obviously raised with love and care, surrounded by a family.

She stopped speaking when Denerim's gate rose in the distance, dark and oppressive. She hated the alienage, the squalor and misery and poverty. But she had nowhere else to look, no other leads to chase.


	2. Chapter 2

"Ah, the heroes of Ferelden," said Bann Shianni, throwing open her arms when she saw the two elves on her doorstep. To her credit, she never forgot that Eve was not the only one who fought the blight and slew the Arch-demon.

Shianni embraced Zevran and Eve, Zevran leaning into the hug and Eve stiffening but not pulling away.

"You look lovely, Shianni," said Zevran. "Running the alienage agrees with you it seems."

"Thank you," said Shianni, blushing. She was far from immune to Zevran's charms, few women were. Beside the rogue, Eve tensed, imperceptibly to Shianni, but Zevran of course noticed. He did not survive for this long by being oblivious to the people around him.

"Come in," Shianni said, opening her door wider and stepping inside. Zevran and Eve followed her, and they all sat around her large dining table. Her home was small but cozy, much less run down than most of the houses in the alienage, and all of them looked pristine compared to the blazing blood covered wreckage the alienage was last time Zevran and Eve saw it.

The smell of stew permeated the small house. Another elf stood in the kitchen, stirring a large pot.

"You're just in time for dinner," said Shianni. When the visitors looked hesitant, she frowned and said, "I insist. I cannot have all the other Banns saying the heroes of Ferelden came to visit and I did not so much as feed them!"

And before the travelers could protest further, they were seated around the table with Shianni, the elf who had been stirring the stew and another elf, a tall blonde male.

"This is Bella, my cousin," said Shianni. "And this handsome elf is her husband, Nelaros."

"Pleased to meet the both of you," said Zevran, words velvet and smooth against those luscious lips. Shianni had been smiling at him and touching his arm far more often than necessary. The gestures were not lost on either rogue, they both were exquisitely sensitive to their environments. Zevran watched the world around him like prey, eyes constantly open to detect a predator before it could devour him.

But Eve was raised a hunter, sheltered until she was strong enough to face whatever dangers lurked outside. Her gaze was the predator, seeking weakness and victory. And yet, when it fell upon Zevran, he felt no danger, no fear. She was perhaps the most dangerous person in all of Ferelden, but she was no threat to him. The threat was within him, it was the desire and need that leapt to attention whenever she was near. Desire that had never abated, no matter how many times he bedded her. Need that had been thrown into sharp relief when he ran off to Antiva without her.

Shianni giggled, and leaned over him to refill his wine. He had been saying something witty, no doubt, and charming.

"We are looking for the Dalish," Eve said, her voice soft but firm enough to break through the chatter and laughter. "Has there been any news of the clans?"

Shianni's cousin Bella sat up straighter but said nothing.

"There has been no news for quite some time," said Shianni. "I do not know if there are any clans nearby. Perhaps they fled the darkspawn horde."

"Thank you," said Eve.

"If you are searching for the Dalish," said Bella, who had been sitting quietly, staring at Eve and ignoring Zevran's attempts to charm her, "take me with you."

"Bella!" said Shianni. "You can't just invite yourself along with the Warden! And you can't leave here! What about your work? And Nelaros?" she directed her gaze to the blonde elf. "Aren't you going to say something?"

"I would go with you, if you went," said Nelaros, covering his wife's hand with his own.

"You don't have to," said Bella. "But we can discuss that later. Warden, will you take us with you?"

Eve frowned. "I do not know how long it will take us to find them, and it will be dangerous."

"I am quite skilled with a blade," said Bella. "And I've taught Nelaros some, he's pretty good. We will be able to take care of ourselves, and we would not trouble you but I'm afraid we'd never be able to find the Dalish on our own."

"This is crazy," said Shianni. "You can't just leave! What about your house? And your father? What will he do?"

"He will understand" said Bella. Her tone was soft, sad, but certain.

"I will take you," said Eve.

"Thank you," said Bella. "I'll go get my things. I can leave as soon as you're ready."

"Where will you go? I haven't heard from any clans since long before the Blight!" said Shianni.

"There is a clan to the north, between here and Amaranthine," said Eve. Velanna, the Dalish sorceress she'd recruited into the Grey Wardens, had told Eve where her clan would be, in case she did not survive. "We will seek them out." It was not Eve's clan, but they could remain with that clan until the next time all the clans met together.

"Well, at least stay the night here," said Shianni. "Since Bella is so eager to run off all over the countryside, she can put you up in her house tonight."

"That would be lovely," said Zevran. "We would be much obliged."

"I will go with you," said Nelaros. Everyone had forgotten him, caught up in their own arguments, and now all the heads turned to him. He smiled at Bella, oblivious to anyone else.

"I made you a promise," he said to her. "Wherever you go, I will go."

Bella grinned like a madwoman and swept him into a hug. Then she hugged Shianni, then Zevran, then the Warden.

"I'm going to go live with the Dalish!" she said. "This calls for a celebration! Get out the good stuff, Shianni!"

Nelaros surprised them all by being very apt with a small flute, and a drunk Shianni and her tipsy cousin got up to dance and even after some time managed to pull Eve into the fray. Clapping and dancing to a traditional folk song, Eve looked less like the Savior of Ferelden and more like an elf a long way from home.

Zevran was content to sit near the hearth and watch her, the gentle smiles she gave to Bella when she thought no one could see, the small crease that appeared between her eyes when Shianni bumped up against him or giggled too loudly at his jokes, and the glimmer of lust that he saw whenever he caught her dark eyes with his own.


	3. Chapter 3

"Why did you leave the Dalish?" Eve asked Zevran as they sat together in camp, keeping watch. The other two elves, Bella and Nelaros, slept soundly. It had been a full day of walking and it would take another such day to reach the forests near Vigil's Keep, where Eve hoped they would be able to find Velanna's clan.

"Ah, that is a dark tale, my dear. Are you certain you wish to hear it?"

Eve nodded; the gesture was barely visible in the flickering light of the campfire. Zevran sensed more than saw it.

"I sought out the Dalish when they were near the city where I lived. They were a fierce clan, made wary and cunning by the frequent violence they encountered. I'm afraid the Dalish are not loved in Antiva any more than they are here," he said.

Eve nodded again.

"Are you certain you wish to hear this? It is a dull story. Let me tell you of the wonders of Antiva instead."

"No," said Eve. "I want to hear it."

"I managed to run away from the Crows, which is no easy task," he said. "They keep a close eye on the young ones for precisely this reason. But I was lucky and got away."

"And you found the Dalish?"

"Yes. The clan took me in without reservation. They were quite kind. I became a hunter, I was quite good at it thanks to my Crow training. It was a happy time for a while."

"But you left?"

"Ah, well, as you know, such times are always fleeting. The Crows, you see, had been looking for me. They found me when I was hunting with two others of the clan. They killed one of the hunters with me and took the other one, a young woman by the name of Ellina, as a prisoner."

"What happened to her?"

"The Crows are not kind to their prisoners. She died, I'm afraid, and I returned to the Crows' service. Where I remained until I took a contract to kill a certain Grey Warden."

Zevran did not tell the whole story. He did not tell his love that Ellina had begged for her life and he took it from her, under the gaze of the Crow masters. He did not tell her he'd hunted down the Dalish woman who had taken him in as a son and killed her, to prove his loyalty to the Crows. He did not tell her what the Crows did to him to drive him to such actions. But she knew enough to hold him close and ask no more questions.

They continued down the road until they came to a bridge where six Qunari warriors stood as though waiting.

Eve walked up to the Qunari leader.

"Greetings," she said, and inclined her head slightly.

The Qunari responded with a nod, but said nothing.

Eve began to walk across the bridge when one huge hand shot out and stopped her.

"You are the Grey Warden?" asked the Qunari.

"Yes," Eve said. "And I must continue onward."

"No," said the Qunari. "You will die here." He drew his blades, and his companions did likewise. But when he raised the weapon to swing, Eve was no longer there. She was somehow behind him, her blades buried in his back. The Qunari roared and swung around, his steel sword clanging against her daggers.

Zevran and Bella joined the fray, Nelaros lagging behind, sword drawn but uncertain. The Qunari were fierce and formidable, but every time they swung a blade, the target was no longer there. This dance continued, Zevran and Eve moving as one among the giants, until two of them cornered Bella. She held her iron longsword up, but it was clear she was no match for two of the mercenaries. Before the raised warhammer could connect with her, Eve was there, and the heavy weapon fell on the Dalish woman's shoulder, crushing her side.

She crumpled to the ground and Zevran, all thought gone, ran to her, leaving a dagger in the throat of the attacker. He stood his ground and managed to finish off the rest of the mercenaries. Then he bent to the Warden. Her injuries were far more than he could heal with poultices. She was alive, but stunned, her shoulder crushed and her breathing labored and wheezing.

"We must get her to a healer," Zevran said to the other elves. "Vigil's Keep is not far from here." He lifted her in his arms. She weighed almost as much as he did, but he carried her anyway, stumbling a little until he got the hang of it.

It was dark and raining when they reached the Keep. Zevran banged on the door and his favorite person answered.

Alistair's hair had gotten darker, and his expression matched.

"We don't give handouts," he said, opening the door just a crack.

"Not even to your own Wardens?" asked Zevran.

Alistair opened the door all the way.

"Zevran?" he said, surprise coloring his features. "What are you doing here?" He then noticed the bundle in the elf's arms. "Is that..?"

Zevran nodded. "She is badly hurt," he said.

"Anders," Alistair yelled into the keep. "We need you!"

Zevran and the other elves stumbled into the warm main hall. A tall blonde mage came running.

"I was just in the middle of dinner," he grumbled until he saw the patient waiting for him. "Wow, that looks bad," he said. "Put her down over here and I'll see what I can do."

Another Grey Warden entered the hall. He was a tall human with dark hair and eyes, a face that was vaguely familiar to Zevran.

"What's all the fuss about?" Nathanial asked.

"We have visitors," Alistair said. "We were just in the middle of dinner," he said to the elves. "Are you three hungry? Eve is in good hands now, Anders is the best."

"That would be nice," said Bella, stepping out of the shadows, Nelaros by her side.

"I'll show you to the dining hall," said Nathaniel, and led the pair off.

"What are you doing here?" Alistair asked once he was alone with Zevran.

"I could not stay away," he said. "You know how much I love the Wardens. Such lovely women. And men. And so dangerous."

"I thought you went back to Antiva." Alistair was not in the mood for Zevran's jokes.

"She brought me back," said Zevran.

"I don't know why," said Alistair. "You left her."

"She is a mystery."

Alistair nodded.

"But a lovely one," Zevran continued. The old rivalry between himself and Alistair still existed, he could tell. And taunting Alistair would be one way to revive his sunken spirits. "And quite enamored with me, I must say."

"You deserve each other," said Alistair. This was unexpected. Zevran looked at the tall man with surprise.

"Oh?" he said.

"You're killers, both of you," Alistair said, bitter. "You belong together."

Zevran felt a strange and foreign impulse, the impulse to defend his lady against all attacks.

"You are a killer too," he said. "We all are. When we were fighting the blight, we killed hundreds of people, not to mention all the darkspawn."

"That's not what I meant. You kill innocent people. I didn't think she would, but I was wrong."

"Is anyone truly innocent, dear Alistair. Or do you just delude yourself?"

"You don't know what she did," said Alistair.

"But I suspect you will enlighten me."

"She destroyed a city. Amaranthine. She burned it to the ground. There were innocent people inside there, but she didn't care. She gave the order and the city burned."

"I thought the city was overrun with darkspawn?"

"Don't listen to that bleedin' heart," said a familiar voice from the hallway. Oghren stepped into the light, his beard a little longer with more elaborate braids, but otherwise the exact same dwarf Zevran had known. "She did the right thing. The hard thing."

"I know," said Zevran. "She always does."


	4. Chapter 4

Eve swam desperately to the surface, kicking and flailing her arms, all her normal grace gone until her head broke above the water and she woke.

She was in a dark room, lying on a soft bed. When her vision cleared and focused, she found she recognized the portrait on the wall, it was a Gray Warden and her mabari, lunging at darkspawn with fury on their faces. She was in Vigil's Keep, then. She remembered little of the journey to the keep, except the pain of her crushed shoulder and bleeding lungs.

And yet, she felt as good as new. Anders truly worked miracles.

She went to the window and looked out over the dark forest. The sky was lightening but the sun had not yet breached the horizon.

And in a chair in the corner, looking at her with the serene golden eyes of a cat, was her lover.

"How do you feel?" he asked.

"I'm fine," she said. "But Bella?"

"She is fine as well. You saved her life."

Relief softened those severe elven features. Zevran regarded her. Her cheekbones were too severe and narrow to really be beautiful, eyes sharp and cunning, intricate lines crossing on her forehead and chin like brown lace. Her mouth was drawn, small, not the large voluptuous lips of an Antivan woman. Her body was slender, she moved with the grace of a halla but lacked the large breasts and hips that for him marked the ideal feminine figure.

And yet he wanted. Still, after bedding her many many times in the month they'd been together. His desire for her did not abate or even ebb no matter how many times he pleasured her. The rise and fall of her aching chest, her soft gasps and moans, her sweet wetness, it should have been enough.

And yet he wanted more.

So foolish, to tempt fate so. Better to be content with what you had. Better to never wish for more, because the little you did have was so easily snatched away. So foolish, to tempt cruel fate.

"I seem to remember you carried me here," she said.

"Ah, yes, I did. You are lucky I am so strong and virile."

"I am indeed." Her finger went to the gold earring she wore hanging around her neck on a leather string. Zevran did not miss the gesture.

It was no token of affection or commitment, the earring. It was simply a gift, he'd told her. Simply a thank you, because she had done so much for him. Freed him.

And when he had gone back his masters, she had freed him again.

"Come," she said. "Let's watch the sunrise."

He nodded and the two rogues climbed out the window and stretched together on the roof. Her timing was perfect. After a few minutes the very tip of the sun rose gold-yellow above the forest, casting it in a vibrant green. The sky shifted, a few wisps of clouds catching the light and turning it to pink.

"Lovely," he said.

"I am sorry to bring you here," she said.

"You were so badly injured," he said. "It is hardly your fault."

She nodded.

"Do not worry. I am not foolish enough to leave you twice."

She nodded again and cursed the tears that rose to her eyes. So soft, so vulnerable. The proud huntress she was could not burden Zevran with her own weakness, her need for him.

But Zevran noticed everything. He covered her hand with his own and turned his head to her. She had not cried when they had come across what was once a Dalish woman turned into a beast, begging for death. She had ended the woman's life with a grave swipe of her dagger and turned to him, eyes dry and empty, and packed the woman's scarf in her pack.

She had not cried when her dearest friend came to her, twisted and suffering from the darkspawn curse, and she had healed him with a quick twist of a blade. And when he came back to her in the temple that held Andraste's ashes and asked her if she regretted, she had not cried. She had told the apparition nothing.

She had not cried when he left. She merely packed up the few things he left behind, a set of Antivan leather boots, a few vials of poison, and a dirty Antivan novel, and set out for Amaranthine.

To see her cry now, it was as though he was seeing the goddess of the hunt naked and pleading before him. There was no man who would be unmoved, not even the heartless killer Zevran had tried so hard to become.

So he looked down at their feet, and noticed she was wearing his Antivan leather boots, the ones he'd left behind. They were well worn and shoddy, splattered with mud and deeply creased.

"We should go look for breakfast," she said, sighing, reluctant.

And Zevran smiled at her. "Stay up here," he said. "You need to rest. I will fetch it for you."

He suspected the relief on her face had much to do with avoiding Alistair for as long as possible.

He carried up a tray with a bowl of fruit for himself, and three eggs, ham, biscuits and gravy, and sausage for his little dove.

She was always hungry, today was no exception.

"If you wish, I could kill Alistair for you," Zevran said. He smiled, though he was not entirely joking.

"You'd only prove him right," she replied, but she smiled as she did so.

"You are no heartless killer," he said.

"I burned Amaranthine to the ground." She spoke gravely but plainly, reciting her crimes much as Loghain had, refusing to spare herself any guilt. She had acted, and she deserved whatever came next.

"Oghren told me it was because Vigil's Keep was also under attack," said Zevran. "You chose the Wardens. It was an unfortunate situation, but the wisest choice you could have made."

She nodded.

"I have killed for profit all my life," he said, "but I have never seen you kill for any reason so petty as that. Even when you worked for the Crows, you did so to gain powerful allies for the Wardens."

She laughed. "Before Duncan," she said, "I killed any shem who so much as stepped a foot onto Dalish lands. I hated them, all shemlen. Duncan and Alistair changed my mind."

"And now Alistair condemns you."

She nodded. "I tried so hard to protect him. There are so many things he never knew."

"And I never understood this. It is time Alistair learns what it means to be a Warden."

She shook her head. "If you could be like him, so gentle and free, wouldn't you? To him, darkspawn are the only enemy. He does not watch the corners of his room at night for fear the shadows might move. He gives his heart and his affection so easily, so freely. He cares for everyone."

Zevran shrugged, a casual movement. But he thought for a long time on her words.


	5. Chapter 5

Alistair looked weary as he sat behind a grand oak desk that was once Arl Howe's, papers and leatherbound books strewn across the polished surface.

Eve stepped into his office.

"Hey," he said, lifting his head to regard her. She seemed more alive now than she had ever been during their time in Amaranthine. She moved with gentle grace and caution, as though he were a skittish squirrel she did not want to upset.

"Hey," she said and sat in the red upholstered chair across from him.

"How do you feel?"

"I'm fine. Anders is a miracle worker."

"How did you get hurt?"

"That's what I wanted to ask you about. There was a group of Qunari mercenaries waiting for us. They were after me specifically and knew where I was going."

Alistair frowned. "That's not good," he said. "Well, you have no shortage of enemies here, that's for certain. You alienated every noble in Amaranthine when you burned down the city."

"Any of them resent me enough to send mercenaries?"

"I don't know. I'm not good at these games, you know. I always screw up and say what I'm thinking before I realize it."

She nodded.

"Where have you been for the last few months? We were all so worried when we never got word of you."

"I was in Antiva," she said. "I didn't tell anyone because I did not want word getting back to the Crows. I did not think you would care."

"Of course I care," said Alistair, standing. "Is that what you think? That I don't care what happens to you? All that time Anders was healing you I was sick with worry! I couldn't sleep until he came out and told me you were going to be fine!"

"After what I've done…" she said.

"You're still you," he said. "Don't get me wrong, I'm still mad at you for it. All those innocent people, Eve. Why?"

"You know why."

"Right. Right. The Wardens. You left a city of innocent people to die so you could save us."

"You were at Vigil's Keep," she said. "Do you really think you could have held off the attack with only Velanna and Sighrun?"

"I don't know. But we all knew we might die fighting in the line of duty. Those people in Amaranthine, they hadn't sworn over their lives."

"Your duty is not to die. Your duty is to live, to fight the darkspawn, to protect all of Ferelden, not just one city."

"I sent my report to Weisshaupt. They wrote us back and sent money. They said you did good work, made the right decisions."

Eve nodded.

"They said," Alistair took a deep breath and frowned, trying to control unruly emotions, "they said you are worthy of being Duncan's replacement."

And it occurred to Eve that perhaps Alistair's anger was not about her at all.

"Would Duncan have done what you did?" His voice was pleading.

Yes, Eve thought. "I don't know," she said.

"I always thought of the Wardens as so noble," he said. "Our goal is to be selfless, to sacrifice our lives to save others."

"I understand," said Eve.

"You left me," he said. "You left me here all alone and you know what happens when I'm in charge, right? I'm surprised I'm still wearing pants!" His tone was joking but beneath it was a current of desperation.

"I'm sorry."

"That's it? You leave without a word for months and then you come back half dead in the arms of that elf and all you can say is you're sorry? You don't have any emotions at all, do you?"

"I care about you," said Eve. "I do. But I have done enough for the Wardens. Amaranthine was enough. I have paid my debts."

"So…you're not staying, then?"

"No. I came to find Velanna."

"She's not here. She left. We were on an expedition to the Deep Roads when she thought she saw her sister in the shadows. She ran off and we never found her. We had to leave her behind."

Eve nodded, clenching her jaw.

"I didn't want to leave her. Oghren had to practically drag me back to Orzammar. I need you here. I need you to make these decisions."

"I cannot." Eve's eyes flashed briefly, her jaw still tight, and her face drawn into itself. Alistair recognized that look, it had lingered long on her countenance when she had found Zevran gone. And sadness replaced anger.

"Look," he said. "I'm sorry I was so mad at you. I may not agree with your decisions, but you're still one of my best friends."

She smiled then and it was like finding a treasure buried beneath crumbling ruins.

"Why were you after Velanna anyway? Need a mage?"

"We're looking for the Dalish," she said.

Alistair grinned. "Great!" he said. "I was just about to go in search of them myself. It's time to find some recruits, and they always have strong warriors. We'll go together."

In spite of herself Eve smiled at his enthusiasm. He stood and wrapped her in the kind of bear hug only he could manage and she found herself forgiving him already.

"We'll leave in a few days. I think you still need to rest."


	6. Chapter 6

Eve often missed the months she spent traveling Ferelden fighting the Blight. Certainly it had been dangerous, the constant threat of darkspawn and Loghain's persecution, but she had never in her life felt so alive, so right, as though her destiny lay out before her, guided by the gods, driven by a single purpose.

And she had her friends.

She missed Morrigan dearly. Often the two of them would hunt together, running fleet footed through the forest, Morrigan in wolf form flushing prey from the undergrowth and into the path of Eve's deadly arrows. Or Morrigan in spider form would weave a giant web and Eve would chase prey into her waiting trap.

And sometimes they just ran for the joy of it, the wolf woman and the huntress at home in the wilds, racing each other without making a sound, breathless and giddy with the heady scent of leaves and grasses. Or Morrigan would become a bird and fly from treetop to treetop and Eve would follow, swinging and leaping from the branches of the ancient trees.

They did not need to speak. They shared a camaraderie deeper than words, the powerful bond of two wild creatures that traveled and hunted together, working as one mind, one predator. Two witches under the moonlight, one who thrummed with untamed magic, one who danced with the wooden weapons of the forest itself.

Zevran tried to follow them once or twice when they disappeared in the fickle hours when the sun was close to the horizon and the light cast long shadows through the forest. But nimble and quick as he was, he could not navigate the wild with ease. He was city born and raised, and on cobblestone streets and crowded marketplaces he was like the wind, everywhere and nowhere, a whisper just before death. And he envied Morrigan and Eve their wild ways.

A true elf, he thought, would navigate the forest with ease and grace, never lost in its shadows and whispers. And he understood what the Dalish meant when they called him flat eared.

And when the women hunted, he mixed poisons or trained, dancing gracefully with his daggers drawn and thrusting. And the movement of his body and the peace on his face were the same, whether he was following the steps to the dance of death he'd been taught or making skillful love to a beautiful partner.

Zevran's coldness unnerved his companions. Wynne searched for some redeeming regret beneath it. Leliana told him there was a reason for his trials, a path paved by the Maker that he was suited and destined to walk down. Alistair avoided him and watched him, eyes narrowed and suspicious across a flickering campfire. Oghren tried to get him drunk, but the assassin would never be so foolish as to let down his guard like that.

But Eve was not like them. She did not search for his regrets or try to justify his atrocities. He often felt as though her intense gaze saw to the core of him, the tender vulnerability and the hardened killer.

Perhaps it was because she too was a killer. To her each wild thing was a brother or sister, to be cherished and loved, and yet she hunted and took pride in her skills, gloried in the kill. She knew what it was to survive and what part of oneself perished, sacrificed, when an innocent fell to her hand. She did not regret the doe that died to feed her companions and she did not expect Zevran to regret the men and women he murdered to stay alive.

Alistair wondered, with the benefit of hindsight, why he had ever been attracted to her. She was as cold as Zevran and as ruthless, they truly deserved each other.

It was the desperation of a man who had lost all that was dear to him, clinging to the only remnant of what had once been his family. And Eve had loved him as she might have loved a younger brother, cherishing his innocence, his unabashed goodness. She had done everything in her power to protect him.

And when she stood before the darkspawn infested city of Amaranthine and found that the bulk of the attack was headed to Vigil's Keep, she thought of the innocent people of the city and the need for Grey Wardens. But she could not forget also that Alistair was at Vigil's Keep, that he would be leading the defenses against the horde of darkspawn, running out to greet them, Cailan's armor shining in the last rays of sunlight, his sword drawn and Duncan's shield raised.

She made the right decision, of that she was certain. She had to save the Wardens, all else was secondary. What was a single city when the darkspawn threatened all of Ferelden?

And yet it haunted her, because she had turned her back on the smoldering ruins of Amaranthine and ran not because the Wardens needed her. She ran because the vision of Alistair overwhelmed by darkspawn, torn apart, his shining armor spattered with red, drove her back to Vigil's Keep.

She chose him and he damned her for it.


End file.
